


This time we'll fall together

by liv_k



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Divergence - Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith, Dark Anakin, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-06-27 23:58:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15696021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liv_k/pseuds/liv_k
Summary: "We would be living a lie, and it would destroy our lives."In the aftermath of Order 66, Anakin Skywalker's miraculous survival after his confrontation with the new Sith Apprentice Darth Vader ignites a sparkle of hope in the remaining Jedi, in the fledgling rebellion and, above all, in his former Master, who had thought he had lost everything to darkness.But darkness is generous, and it is patient.ROTS AU.Starts as canon Anidala, becomes Obikin later on, without infidelity.





	1. Prologue. The Child

**Author's Note:**

> Further warnings are in the notes to each chapter.  
> As I think you will have noticed, I changed the summary.

Darth Vader was crying. The turbolift was soaring along the highest spire of the Temple, far above the smoke and the fire and the blood, rising towards the ultimate sacrifice, the slaughter of the lambs. There, alone, Darth Vader was crying.

_Do what must be done, Lord Vader._

Kill all the Jedi.

_Do not hesitate._

Not even before the children.

_Show no mercy._

Kill them all in cold blood.

_Only then will you be strong enough with the Dark Side to save Padmé._

Only then will you suffer enough, hate yourself enough to stop stars from dying.

Tears and blood offered in sacrifice on the altar of love.

The chains of a lifetime were broken, all his fears far behind. No more the Chosen, he was now the Chooser, and he had chosen to claim his destiny and harness the power of his birthright.

He already knew how bitter that power was, frenzied and savage, the Force shrouded in a red haze, Sith crimson staining his soul. He had tasted it once, reveled in it, a lust then forbidden. No more. No more restraint. But the pain, oh the pain, the pain was overwhelming.

When had he started to cry? Climbing the staircase, giving the order, meeting a blade of blue or green plasma, taking the life of the Temple guards, chocking life out of a Padawan’s lungs?

It could have been any moment of the last – last what? Minutes, hours, _years_?

How long had it been since Anakin Skywalker’s death, the first sacrificial victim of this holocaust? Minutes, maybe as much as an hour, yet it felt like a lifetime. The life of another man, a weak child, a fool.

The elevator stopped and Darth Vader stepped outside, sensing the presence of a dozen flickers of life behind the closed doors before him, tasting their fear as it mounted in waves, its dark velvet touch caressing that deep part of his soul he had fought so hard to contain.

He sipped their fear, even as it burned in his throat. The pain was there, fuel for his fury, fuel for his power. Strong, ready, decided, he crossed the antechamber with two swift strides and - _oh, the pain._

The pain overtook him, another kind of pain, shock and fear and betrayal coming to him from across the stars.

For the briefest moment the Force shone bright and clear again amidst the red haze, showing him the image of a men falling to meet his doom. It hurt, oh Force it hurt, worse than Geonosis, it hurt as much as it had hurt on Tatooine, the death, the gaping wound, agony, loneliness – _Anakin, oh Anakin, I should have died by your side, not like this, forgi-_

No.

Before it was too late, Darth Vader tore that channel apart, shattering the bond which Anakin Skywalker had left open, uprooting it until it left a gaping wound in his soul – or what was left of his soul, if there was anything left at all. He could not, he _would_ not feel the death of Skywalker’s Master. Perhaps Kenobi would live, but he wasn't going to wait to find out. He would not let _attachment_ prevent him from doing what he must.

How ironic – the first time in his life he had been able to let go of his attachments had been not as a Jedi but as a Sith.

With a wave of an hand and a stride – how anticlimactic – the evil of the Sith stepped inside the heart of the Jedi Temple for the first time in four thousands years.

A child – afraid, yet brave – stepped out from the shadows where he and his companions were hiding, walking towards Vader with fear and hope in his eyes.

“Master Skywalker”, he called, the name of a dead man in his pleading voice, “there are too many of them. What are we going to do?”

How utterly anticlimactic. And blurred.

It was all blurred behind his tears. Present and past, memories, the future. 

Another child, another place, another time, yet all the same. Not older than ten, sandy hair and blue eyes, fear and hope in his eyes as he turned to a Jedi Knight. _“What will happen to me now?”_

_“What are we going to do?” “What will happen to me now?”_

The memories, the years, crystalline and sharp as the heart of the blade, hopes and fears converging in this moment, in this place.

A vergence. The final choice.

This child, another child, a frightened slave boy, cold and afraid. Darth Vader’s true trial. Kill the pleading child, kill the child within, destroy what is left of Skywalker and buy with their blood the life of Vader’s child.

The Sith ignited his blue blade, ready to strike. He looked his fate in the eyes, those pleading blue eyes of a child.

And there, where Vader thought he would see Skywalker’s eyes, Darth Vader saw the eyes of his own unborn child.

The Force froze. The violent upsurge of dawn over a battlefield tore the clouds apart, the blazing sun casting its unforgiving light on the carnage.

What future would he buy for his child with these bloodied hands?

_The power to save Padmé._

The power to save the only soul in the galaxy who truly, deeply loved him. Who truly, deeply owned him.

And yet now he could see it, the trap he had walked into.

How could there be love, a wife, a child, in the life of a Sith?

And a Dark Lord of the Sith doesn’t share power.

The final cruelty of the Sith was unveiled in this final moment of clarity, where prophecies, dreams and visions melt into a self-fulfilling destiny of pain.

 

Time was no more as the Galaxy turned in slow motion, the death of the stars held for the moment at bay as his life unfolded around him.

Kill the children and leave, fetch Padmé and run away.

Sidious would hunt him, hunt her, hunt the child.

And Vader knew he was not strong enough to face him alone. He needed help.

The children.

Darth Vader smiled.

 

* * *

  

When Master Skywalker ignited his blue lightsaber, Sors Bandeam shivered, gripping tightly the hilt of his small training saber, knowing that it wouldn’t defend him in a fight.

It was difficult for him to understand all the emotions that their hero was displaying – he was almost tempted to remind him that it was not the Jedi way to look so angry, so sad. At last, after a few terrifying seconds in which Master Skywalker seemed to be reading into Sors' soul with his reddened eyes, he smiled and turned off his blade.

“We are going to leave”, he said, and Sors could hear in his voice how tired he was from the fighting. “I'm here to save you.”

“But Master, the Clones…”

Skywalker kneeled before him. “Hush, hush, young one. Don’t be afraid." He smiled again. "The Force shall set us free.”

And their liberty soared in the sky, a luxurious city-speeder running away from the slaughter. Sors saw Master Skywalker frowning at the sight and fumbling with shaking fingers at his utility belt, until his commlink was in his grip.

A beep. Another.

_“Who’s there?”_

Master Skywalker sighed in relief.

“Senator… Senator Organa, it’s Skywalker.”

_“Sweet Force, am I glad to hear from you. Are you in the Temple?”_

“Yes… Yes. Senator, listen to me. Carefully. I can see your speeder from the Council Chamber; I have eight younglings with me, they won’t fit in. Can you send a transport?”

_“A transport to the Temple? Skywalker, you surely realize…”_

“There’s no time! It’s the highest spire, in the Council Chamber. If you can, send a transport to evacuate the children. You, you please go to 500 Republica. Take Padmé, take her off-planet.”

_“Skywalker, she’s in a position difficult enough...”_

“You don’t understand!” Skywalker roared, and Sors was suddenly afraid. “Sidious will be after her child! Take her away… And away from Kenobi, if he's still alive! Don’t let Obi-Wan near her until she’s given birth! No, don’t protest, he must not be with her as long as she’s in labor.”

_“And you?”_

“I… I have to take care of Darth Sidious’ apprentice. I will destroy him. Believe me, I will survive. Tell Padmé I will survive. Send me your transponder code, this frequency is still secure, I will find you! Now go!” he yelled, and Sors saw the speeder zooming away from the Temple towards the city lights.

Master Skywalker clasped Sors’ shoulder and looked at him in his eyes. They were so red, he was really too tired.

“Stay here," he whispered, the soothing tone of the Masters of the crèche. “Senator Organa is sending a transport. When it arrives, shatter the glass with your ‘sabers and do as the Senator’s men tell you. You can trust them.”

Sors nodded, gravely, the stern composure of a Jedi straining to keep the fear at bay.

“We will, Master Skywalker. May the Force be with you.”

Their savior didn’t reciprocate the salute as he hurriedly left, his dark cloak swirling behind him.


	2. Death of a Hero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed slightly the timeframe of the events (i.e. Mas Amedda's call arriving on the Tantive rather than when they're already landing on Coruscant); I followed Stover's novelization, which makes more sense.  
>  **Trigger warnings:** pregnancy, labor and mention of miscarriage (non happening, I can kill almost anyone in Star Wars but I would NEVER kill Luke and Leia).

Before the war, the blue blur of hyperspace used to fill Obi-Wan with wonder and a sense of belonging, the knowledge of being a part of a wider universe inhabited by billions of beings breathing as one to the rhythm of the Force.

This, until Geonosis. After that first, horrific battle, hyperspace had lost its philosophical allure and had become instead the simple symbol of respite. It was always too short, mere hours or days, but seeing the blurred starlight against the blue backdrop meant they had survived another day. They. They, not _him._

Hyperspace had never felt so lonely.

Now... now the sight of and the silvery threads of twirling stars was giving him nothing but wave after wave of nausea, a churning sensation that rose from the pit of his stomach to his lungs and his throat, leaving an acrid aftertaste in his mouth. He had not even been able to reach out to the Force for release. He had tried as soon as he had entered hyperspace, but had recoiled in horror before the scorching agony that burned throughout the universe, its raging heat blistering the depths of in his soul. There was no release for the survivors, only screams, and then unbearable silence. The horror was so overwhelming he had not yet been able to shed a tear.

Somehow, he had always thought that death would find him at Anakin’s side. He had assumed, then, that his former apprentice was going to outlive him, just as it was in the natural course of things, the younger outliving the older, the student outliving the teacher. Even though they had been at war for three years, Obi-Wan had never truly considered the possibility of outliving his Padawan. To live in a Galaxy where Anakin was no more… Bitter reality had now come to shatter what he had always considered a certainty given to him by the Force.

Because Anakin was dead, and he was alive and unharmed, save for the gaping wound left by their shattered bond. He could only hope that, whenever Anakin was, he had finally found peace. _Forgive me, my friend_ , he asked to the void, but found only silence. Perhaps, in the end, fate had been kinder to his dead friend than to him.

At last, a mechanical call came to wake him from his nightmares. The proximity sensor blared, and he pulled Grievous’ fighter back to realspace. The Tantive III materialized before him, silent and white against the blackness of deep space. The moment his ship was caught in the tractor beam of the Tantive, Obi-Wan tipped his head back against the headrest and let out an agonizing sigh. He had never cared much about flying, that was sure, but this trip from Utapau to a blank spot in the dead of space not far away from Denon had been, hands down, the worst of his life. Not to mention the most reckless: in spite of any regard for his own security, the course he had plotted to meet Bail Organa at the intersection between the Hydian Way and the Corellian Run had had him jump right through Separatist Space, all the way from Dagobah to Eriadu and then Malastare. He was fairly sure it didn't matter anymore, and indeed his wild flight had not been hindered by the sudden appearance of a Separatist disruptor beam. The war was really over, but at what price.

Exhaling, he left the cockpit and punched the hatch open, stumbling down the ramp with his mask of Jedi composure barely in place. Worn out as he was, the rarefied artificial atmosphere of the asteroid dazed him, forcing him to steady himself against the right strut of the ramp. He blinked twice, hungrily taking in his small welcoming party – friends, alive. Yoda was there, robes and gimer stick and pointed ears, a sight so familiar it filled him with an absurd, almost childish relief. Bail, pale and shaken, worried and relieved at the same time. And then, beside him… beside him… Obi-Wan swallowed hard, feeling the sting of tears burning in his eyes at last, the final blow on his already faltering self-control.

Beside Bail stood Padmé, her beautiful face blotchy and swollen, her trembling body still wrapped in a soft nightgown of a gentle shade of blue; she must have left Coruscant in a hurry, without even the time to dress, clutching the first thing at hand to protect her bare shoulders from the chill of space. The fact that the first thing she had found was a Temple-issued brown robe did not surprise Obi-Wan in the slightest.

What surprised him – shocked him, shook him more than even Cody’s betrayal had – was the swelling that neither the cape nor the nightgown were now able to hide. He thanked the Force he was already clutching the strut, or he would have tumbled to the ground.

He didn’t even have to ask who the father was. Had he not already known about their love, the heartbreak in her eyes would have given their secret away.

The fight against the tears he felt burning behind his eyelids was one of the hardest fights of his life.

Slowly, breathing hard, he steadied himself and walked toward her, a man marching to his gallows; he could not avert his gaze from her pleading eyes. When he reached her, her soft fingers were cold in his grim-coated hands.

Padmé inhaled and her eyes fluttered close for the briefest instant as she braced herself for the blow to come. Surely she knew about their bond, surely she knew that Obi-Wan had the answer to the question she didn’t want to ask.

But she was brave, a Queen and a Senator and the lover of a warrior, and was not afraid to look him in his eyes, voice unfaltering, as she asked, “He is dead, isn’t he?”

Obi-Wan knew he had lost his fight when he saw her face blurred behind the thin curtain that veiled his eyes.

“I am so sorry," he said, miserably, before taking her in his arms, holding her close and letting her cry all her pain on his stiffened chest. He couldn’t care less if Yoda saw him giving into his own grief, as he basked for the last time in the faint scent of Anakin, trapped as a last gift in the discarded cape he had left in his lover’s house.

 

* * *

 

The interior design of the Tantive III was so completely in Bail’s style that the ship seemed almost an extension of the man himself: spare, elegant and functional, with a coolness in appearance that, in the Senator, hid a gentle and caring soul. In another circumstance, Obi-Wan would have found it much of his likings; now, though, he almost wished to stand battered under the unforgiving rain of Kamino or scorched by Mustafar’s fiery fire, everything but resting comfortably this aseptic grace. He ached for motion, for _battle._ For _action,_ at least. To sit at a table in a conference room while Anakin’s body lay cold amidst the ruins of the Temple felt akin to betrayal.

Wearily, he passed a hand through his hair, realizing only belatedly that his fingers were still coated in the grime of his last battle against Grievous, just as his tunic was still splattered with the blood of his poor dragonmount.

“I can’t understand how we didn’t see this coming," he said dryly, trying hard not to glare at Yoda with accusatory eyes. He had sat on the Council for two years now; rationally, he could hardly put all the blame on the Grandmaster’s shoulders.

“Cloud everything, the Dark Side did”, Yoda said, his own self-deprecation clear enough in his voice.

“Yes, in the Force. But as _sentients_ we should have been able to figure out what was happening”, Obi-Wan said, unable to hide the bitter edge in his words. “We should have known since the moment we realized Dooku was Tyranus. Since the moment Fives died."

Yoda’s ears dropped eve lower than they already were. “Too entangled in this war, at that point, we already were.”

Obi-Wan lowered his gaze, absently noting the tremor in his thighs. “Yes. It would have been impossible to stand down.” He turned towards Bail, whose horror reverberated in the Force strongly enough for Obi-Wan's already faltering shields to suffer under the onslaught.

“Are you really implying that the whole war has been nothing but a ruse?”, Bail asked hoarsely as soon as their eyes met, his hands holding white-knuckled the side of the table. “And that you somehow suspected there was something more to it but thought better than to tell the Senate?”

“Mine, the choice was”, Yoda admitted. “The only way, to play into the Sith hands, seemed to be.”

“This Darth Sidious was more resourceful than we were willing to admit," Obi-Wan said gently; the dull pain in the eyes of the ancient Master had stifled the growing tide of his anger. “And perhaps the Sith have changed more than we ever realize. I believe that they may have even forsaken the Rule of Two. Palpatine could not have been able to train a new apprentice in so short a time, a new apprentice strong enough to kill… to kill the Jedi in the Temple”, he said, but everyone heard the unspoken _Anakin._  He took his head in his hands. “What possessed him to go fight this unknown apprentice alone?”, he moaned. _Why, Anakin, why?_ , he kept screaming over his shattered bond.

“Strong enough to kill Dooku, your apprentice was," Yoda said. “Strong enough to face this new menace, he thought he would be. Besides, not only to kill his purpose was.”

Obi-Wan blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Received a retreat coded signal we have, from the main Temple beacon.”

“It requested all Jedi to return to the Temple. It said that the war is over," Bail supplied

“Well then we must go back!" Obi-Wan cried. “If there are other stragglers, they will fall into the trap and be killed.”

“Another signal, now is the beacon sending. Someone, overwritten the trap has. _Hide and run_ , now the beacon says.”

Obi-Wan gritted his teeth to prevent his jaw from trembling. “Anakin," he whispered. Anakin, brave and selfless to the end.

“He might have survived, Obi-Wan," Bail said slowly. “He seemed confident in his chances to destroy this apprentice.”

“I sensed his death in the Force.” The coldness in his voice made him feel ashamed of himself, especially when confronted with Padmé’s heartbroken sobs; sometimes, he loathed his own self control. “Our bond shattered just mere seconds after Cody shot me down.” _I should have died in the fall._

“As a Jedi, your apprentice died," Yoda chided him sternly, as if he’d read the unspoken thought. His gimer stick clacked hard against the floor, its reprimand even harsher than that of the ancient Master. “His duty, he did. Flee not from a Sith, a Jedi does. Flee from the Sith on Naboo, you did not. Nor did your Master.”

“But wasn’t he supposed to be the Chosen One?” Obi-Wan asked, as the memory of Qui-Gon’s last words stabbed him once again. His hands fell helpless on his lap. _Promise me you will train the boy._ Train him to face his death.

Yoda closed his eyes. “Misread, the Prophecy must have been.”

“He has been very brave, Obi-Wan," Bail said gently. “The children he saved told me he looked terribly afraid… But he didn’t flee from his duty.”

“Trust Anakin to be reckless to the end.” Anakin would have wanted this, their easy banter on death’s doorsteps and beyond. He heard Padmé chuckling amidst her sobs. She understood.

“Sorry, I am, to have doubted the boy," Yoda admitted. He seemed even older than his nine hundred years.

Obi-Wan’s eyes drifted towards Padmé, half-slumped over a couch in a corner of the room, her belly al last gloriously unmasked. She was wiping her eyes and, as if feeling his gaze upon her, turned to look at him.

“I have always known he could die in the war," she said softly, her voice only slightly catching at the word _die_. In the corner of his eye, Obi-Wan saw Yoda’s ears drooping in dismay. Anakin had broken his vows, that was sure, but neither him nor the Grandmaster could be indifferent to the depth of the love between their dead fellow Jedi and the pregnant Senator. “I was even prepared to accept it. I wouldn’t have loved Anakin the way I did… the way I do," she amended, her face twisting in pain, “had he been any different. But this… to be a victim of genocide, slaughtered like an animal in his home… Oh.”

Padmé wasn’t Force Sensitive, yet Obi-Wan could feel the echo of a long-forgotten pain in her words, and his heart skipped a beat as she curled on her belly, rocking back and forth on her chair to the unsteady rhythm of her sobs. Seeing a woman of her strength so broken was heart-wrenching.

He rose and crossed the distance between them, kneeling before her and cupping her face in her hands.

“Padmé… he died in battle against the greatest enemy of our order. He saved those children, and he did what he could to ensure that you and your children were safe. I’m sure his last thoughts were of you.”

Swallowing, she nodded in his hands, pressing her forehead against his. After a few seconds, Obi-Wan felt her stiffening.

“ _Children?_ ” she whispered, her red-rimmed eyes wide open, an hair’s breadth from his.

“You are going to have twins, Padmé… I thought you knew.”

Her shudder told him she didn’t know.

“Obi-Wan… What are we going to do?” she pleaded.

Obi-Wan knew that probably Yoda wasn’t going to like the only answer he could give her, but the Force knew that he was far past the point of caring.

“I… I am not Anakin," he whispered, “but I will do everything in my power to help you and your children… It’s the least I can do for you – and for him.”

Behind him, Bail cleared his throat uncomfortably. Obi-Wan turned to him frowning.

“Speaking of which… Obi-Wan, before he left Anakin told me – well, ordered me," he said, shifting his weight on his feet, “to tell you to… stay away from Padmé until she’s given birth.”

Obi-Wan’s frown deepened.

“And why would he want that?” he asked, his grief for a moment superseded by confusion.

“He didn’t tell me.” Bail shook his head. “But he seemed to consider it important.”

Padmé sighed. “I think I know why… He had visions of me dying in childbirth. Perhaps he saw you with me.”

Obi-Wan froze, the memory of Anakin’s visions about his mother still too vivid in his heath. “Oh, Force.” He rose and backpedaled until his back hit the wall. “I will leave right now. I’ll return to stay with you and the babies after you’ve given birth.” Unbidden, a bitter thought made him feel ashamed of himself, _why do all the people I love die and leave me alone to raise their children?_ Except for Satine, who would have wanted to give birth to his son but was denied by fate, and had died because of him anyway.

He turned on his heels, bent on leaving the room and the planet before anyone could stop him, when Padmé called him back, her voice pleading.

“Obi-Wan, please. I won’t die in childbirth.”

Obi-Wan sighed, without turning, and shook his head. “Anakin’s visions… they have proven to be reliable. I will not let them happen.”

“Always in motion, the future is," Yoda said; Obi-Wan could sense the Master's piercing gaze on his nape.

“Still, I won’t risk it.” He closed his eyes. “I will not fail Anakin’s last request.”

“Obi-Wan, I’m not due for at least a month," Padmé said, and Obi-Wan had to admire her for her struggle to be lucid. “If you are so afraid, I won’t stop you when the time comes. But right now we need you here. We need to plan our moves.”

“Moves?” he asked, sensing the muscles on his face contracting in a feral smirk. “What can we do? It’s me, Master Yoda and eight children! Not really a force to be reckoned with.”

“Not befitting a Jedi, such talk is, Obi-Wan! Better from you, I expected.” Yoda’s reprimand cut through the pain, making him feel once again the stubborn Padawan he once had been, but it didn’t change his perspective on the future.

“I am sorry, Master, but I can’t see what else we could do. We can’t just leave the Younglings and go on some idealistic crusade.”

Yoda nodded tiredly. “Right you are, Obi-Wan. The Younglings, we must protect, and Skywalker’s children. Strong in the Force, they will be. Still, discover the truth about the Sith Lord we must.”

Padmé had paled visibly, her hands going without thought to her belly, and she opened her mouth to protest, but whatever words she was about to utter were muted by the twin beeping of her and Bail’s comlinks. She was still fumbling in the pockets of her cape when Bail tapped his device to receive the incoming transmission. A pre-registered holo of Mas Amedda came to life above the Senator’s outstretched hand.

_“Honorable Senator, the Supreme Chancellor requests your presence at a special session of Congress, to be held at tenth hour on Primeday morning.”_

A thick silence fell over the room.

“If we leave in a few hours, we’ll make it in time," Padmé said slowly.

Obi-Wan stiffened, looking at her in alarm; he had always known her to be bold, but this bordered on an Anakin-esque kind of recklessness. “You can’t possibly be thinking of going back to Coruscant, Padmé.”

Padmé’s glare reminded him of the teenage Queen who had gone against the Trade Federation. “Of course I’m going," she stated coldly, as she got on her feet. “I could never have imagined the extent of Palpatine’s betrayal, and I certainly never entertained the idea he was  a Sith, but Bail, I and a few others in the Senate have been expecting for months an authoritarian turn of events. We need to assess the situation with our own eyes. I can’t, in all good conscience, leave the Senate now when people like us are most needed.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “And what about your children?”

Padmé straightened her back, and there was nothing frail in her thin, pregnant figure, only grim determination. “My children will not grow up under a dictatorship, not as long as I breathe," she declared.

“Listen to me, Padmé.” Obi-Wan reached her, taking once again her hands in his. “Palpatine is no fool. No matter what story you make up, he will know that Anakin is the father. He will try to kill you and the children… or worse.”

Padmé flinched, paling visibly, but her eyes remained dry. “Worse?” she whispered, voice hoarsened by fear.

“He could try to use them. Train them in the Dark Side. He knows how powerful Anakin is, I’m sure he kept him so close because he was wary of him. He will not let Anakin’s children become a threat.”

Sensing that Padmé's legs were about to crumble under her weight, Obi-Wan gently drove her again to the couch and sat down beside her.

“You must not return to Coruscant. We must go in hiding and, if you wish, when the children are born I will come with you and help you rise them and protect them.”

Padmé closed her eyes and swallowed. “If I go into hiding, Palpatine will understand why I did it. He will come looking for us.”

Obi-Wan’s grip on her hands intensified. “He will have you over my dead body," he said, but the words sounded meaningless. _His apprentice was skilled enough to kill Anakin_ , he thought gloomily. _Palpatine will eat me for breakfast._

“There is another way," Padmé said, her eyes shut. She breathed hard and opened her eyelids, searching for Bail with an apologetic stare. “Bail, forgive me for this personal question. During her last pregnancy Breha told me that, because of her health problems, she had equipped the Tantive medbay with birthing facilities. Are they still functional?”

Bail nodded silently.

“Padmé, what are you talking about?” Obi-Wan asked, the slightest trace of panic coloring his voice.

“When Anakin started becoming paranoid with his visions, I asked my med-droid about planned birth," she explained, in a matter-of-fact voice. “With a sanitized medbay and a midwife droid I should be near-term enough to have a safe c-section. If Bail’s droid gives me clearance, I’ll have the babies today, and with adequate bacta I’ll be able to be in the Senate by Primeday. I’ll tell Palpatine the attack on the Temple caused me to go into early labor, so Bail took me away and I gave birth to a stillborn child on his ship.”

Obi-Wan stared at her in shock, appalled at her presence of spirit in making such an audacious – and atrocious – plan mere minutes after having learnt of her lover’s death. “But, Padmé-”

“Brave, you are, Senator," Yoda interrupted him. “Brave, and committed. But a Sith, Sidious is. See through your deceit, he will.”

Padmé’s lips clenched in a tight line. A dangerous line. “Are mind-tricks permanent?”

“What?”, Obi-Wan asked, confused at the non-sequitur.

“Are you able to trick me into believing in my own lie until I return?”

Obi-Wan swallowed, unable – unwilling – to follow her line of thought.

“You want _me_ to trick you into believing that your children died?”, he asked, his voice barely a whisper. He heard Bail hissing behind him. As for Yoda, he couldn’t gauge his thoughts. Deep access to the Force was too painful, and on the surface the Master was blank

“It’s the only way to protect them," she said. “Obi-Wan, listen to me. I know you would gladly die to keep Anakin’s children safe, but what use would it be? You are a great Jedi, but you can only do so much. You can’t defend us against the Galaxy.”

Painfully, his teeth clenched, Obi-Wan nodded, and heard Yoda sighing beside him.

“Right, Senator Amidala is. The best way forward, this may be.”

“I will check on the med-bay to see if everything is in order," Bail offered, taking his leave. He was pale and shaken, but tried his best to hide it.

“Will you stay with me?” Padmé asked, her fingers numb in Obi-Wan’s death grip.

“I can’t," Obi-Wan said, almost pleading. “I can’t disobey Anakin’s dying wish.”

“Stay with you, I will, until ready you are. If you would like me to, Senator.”

Notwithstanding his grief, Obi-Wan still retained enough of his dark sense of humor to grimace at the thought of Yoda keeping company to a woman in labor.

“Soothe you anxiety with the Force, I can," the ancient Master added gently. “The least I can do for Skywalker, this is.”

A tremulous smile surfaced on Padmé’s lips. “I would be most grateful, Master”, she said, bowing her head graciously.

“I will be with the Younglings," Obi-Wan said. “I wish I could stay, Padmé, I really do." He managed a soft smile, and she tried her best to reciprocate through her tears. Now more than ever, the loss of Anakin was a black pit of void in his soul. "May the Force be with you," he said, Jedi until the end. Still, in his heart, a voice screamed that the Force had deserted them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The kind of Force Illusion suggested by Padmé is attested in canon, see Memory rub on Wookiepedia.


	3. The return of the Jedi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What better time to revive this undead fic than now that I am in this obikin angst mood?  
> I will finish what I started.

“Master Kenobi, what are we going to do?”

Such a simple question, and yet Obi-Wan Kenobi, Master in the Jedi High Council – not that there was a Jedi Council anymore, anyway –, had no idea on where to look for the answer. He felt as old as Master Yoda as he looked upon the eight expectant children before him. They were clustered in a corner of a small meeting room which had been hastily refitted as a dorm for the tiny, frightened young Jedi. They were huddled together, in meditation position, faces contracted in an almost believable display of composure. It was the small gestures that betrayed their fear: small fingers clutching the hilts of training saber or fumbling at the hems of stained tunics, trembling lips, red-rimmed eyes, and above all the subtle way they all touched, fur against skin, leg against paw, claw in small hand, as they tried to find comfort in each other as they would have done in the Temple crèche after a nightmares-ridden night.

 _The Force will provide a solution_ , Qui-Gon Jinn would have said, and indeed this would probably have been the correct Jedi answer, but a gut sense older than even his training told Obi-Wan that, right in that moment, the Jedi answer would not be enough.

“We will talk,” he said, settling himself on the floor in a cross-legged position that mirrored that of the children.

“Are we going to meditate?” a small Rhodian girl asked, her voice a barely audible gush of air from between trembling lips.

“No,” he replied. “The Force is in turmoil, and so are you. So are we all, myself and Master Yoda included.” Eight sharp indrawn breaths at this admission made him fleetingly reconsider his decision, but he resolved to stand his ground. He forced himself to smile gently for the children’s sake, just as he had tried his best to smile to a ten years old Anakin even as his heart grieved over Qui-Gon’s death. “There is no shame in what you feel, in what we all feel. It is natural to be afraid, to feel lost. I do too.”

Ra’Naan, a six-years-old Arconan boy who had learnt his first Shii-Cho with Obi-Wan, had his eyes glassed over with the patina that was his species’ tears. Obi-Wan signaled him to get closer. The boy was hesitant at first, but then he nestled on Obi-Wan’s lap and started quietly sobbing against his chest, soon followed by the Rhodian girl, Khoolo, and a human boy, Jaed. In a few moments, their lightsabers discarded, all the eight children were cuddled around the Jedi Master.

“Hush, children, hush,” he whispered, fighting to hold back his own tears by focusing on the steady presence of Yoda, whose soft light felt like a sunray breaking through storm clouds.

“It is not forbidden for us to have these emotions, children. What is asked of us as Jedi is to acknowledge our fears, face them and surrender them into the Force.”

“But the Force hurts so much,” Khoolo whispered.

“I know.” He wiped away a tear from the her face. “I know. But even the smallest candle can light the darkest night.”

As he spoke, he distantly felt Padmé drifting into artificial sleep, and a subtle ripple of golden light told him that the twins would soon be born, their flames already bright in the growing darkness. Even in their shimmering glow, though, for himself he found nothing but pain: Anakin’s presence was all over them, sealed in their flesh and their blood.

“Will we be that flame, Master?” the Mon Cala child asked, her wide eyes so achingly similar to Bant’s – poor Bant, who probably lay dead in the Healers’ wing.

He crushed under a his iron will the sudden upsurge of rage that the memory of Bant and all his lost friends awakened in him. He knew that, hadn’t it been for Anakin’s children, he would now be on his course to Coruscant to try and take Palpatine out by himself. It was not revenge what Obi-Wan sought: it was action, purpose, everything but this senseless inertia. He was a Jedi Master, a General in the Grand Army of the Republic, and now he was forced to stand by while the archenemy of his people seized control over the galaxy and destroyed everything he had ever held dear. While Anakin’s dead body was left in the Temple to rot.

_Breathe. There is no death, there is the Force._

The words had never felt more empty.

But the children needed him there. Both the Jedi Younglings and Anakin’s children.

“Yes, we will be,” he forced himself to say. “And the deeper the darkness, the brighter our flame.”

But darkness had smothered the brightest flame of all.

 

***

 

Obi-Wan had just put the children to bed and was about to search for Bail and ask for updates on Padmé when someone tapped lightly at the door of his small cabin. Opening it with a wave of his hand, he found himself looking at one of Bail’s attendants, a slender woman clad in white. He could sense her reserve in interrupting what she knew was a moment of grieving; grateful for the concern, he forced himself to smile.

“General Kenobi, I am sorry to intrude. We have a situation here, but since Senator Organa made it clear he was not to be disturbed we need your counsel.”

“I am at your service, ma’am.” Feeling in his joint the strain of every single blow he had dealt against Grievous – he hadn’t yet slept since before Utapau, and that was now two days ago – he stood up.

“Our scanners have picked up an incoming unknown vessel. It seems to be locked onto our coordinates and we’ve detected a single life-form aboard, but the pilot is not answering our calls. The only feedback we’ve received comes from an artoo unit with a disturbed behavioral pattern, it seems so on edge we can’t make out what it says – General?”

Obi-Wan was already out of the door.

“Activate the tractor beam at once,” he ordered, the stark commanding tones of a General at last back on his lips.

“Who is it? You know the ship?”

“I don’t. But I may know the astromech and… and the life-form.”

 _My pathetic life-form_. _And life-form means… alive._

He had felt Anakin die, he knew that, but still he couldn’t stop himself from hoping against all odds.

“Sir, you surely realize I can’t in good faith let an unknown ship dock into our hangar if we are not sure-”

“Yes, yes, I know”, Obi-Wan said, fidgeting with compressed energy. “Let the ship dock at the external hatch. I will go inside myself. I can handle it.”

The woman considered him for a moment, then apparently decided that he seemed ferocious enough to be able to take care of any menace posed by the unknown ship.

“Very well. The hatch is on the second level, sector grek-three, six corridors from here starboard-wise.”

“Thank you”, he said, sprinting down the corridor. “And have a medical droid ready!”

 

***

 

The ship, a battered skyhopper, was a legitimate piece of junk, so tattered that the Twilight would have looked as an high-class cruiser on comparison. It was the most  _Anakin_ ship Obi-Wan had ever seen.

He didn’t even have to wave his hand to open the hatch; his desperate haste left no time for such subtleties. A troubling sizzle of electricity was probably the telltale sign of the excessive strength of his Force push, but he couldn’t care less. The only important noise – _please, please_ – was the frenzied beeping that came from the cockpit. In Obi-Wan’s experience, there was only one droid capable of such a worryingly human display of distress.

The cockpit door was slammed open by another burst of the Force.

Obi-Wan never knew if what made him freeze on the doorway, unable to breathe, was the sight before his eyes or the miasma of Dark energy that surrounded the unconscious figure half-lying on the floor.

Anakin’s body was propped against the back of the pilot seat and fastened to it with a metallic wire which Obi-Wan recognized immediately as Artoo’s traction cable; the poor good droid, who was welcoming Obi-Wan with what could only be defined as an extremely relieved beeping, must have tried to secure his unconscious friend during the flight in the only way he could. Obi-Wan thought, absurdly, that this was probably the first time in his life Threepio's presence would have actually been useful.

Under the coat of grime and blood, Anakin’s face was deadly pale, ghostlike in the artificial light of the ship; his body was limp, his left hand lifeless on his sprawled legs, and his right – his right hand _…_ Obi-Wan's breath caught. Anakin's right _arm_ , his entire arm, flesh and prosthetic alike, had been severed. Only a stump remained, even shorter than the one left by Dooku’s lightsaber after Geonosis; it was nothing more than a bloodied suggestion of a limb right under his armpit.

Obi-Wan fell to his knees between his friend’s sprawled legs, his shaking fingers frantically searching the bloodied neck for a pulse.

There was a pulse.

Against all hopes, Anakin was alive.

There was a pulse, and that was good, but it was fast, way too fast, and that was bad. Obi-Wan brushed his fingers against Anakin’s forehead, the briefest gesture of affection put to an use to sense his body temperature – too hot, and that was worse.

The clinical detachment granted him by three years of war let him assess with a single glance the gravity of Anakin’s injury: inflicted by a lightsaber, already cauterized, no risk of hemorrhage, but the degree of the burns and the long hours Anakin had spent lying on a dirty ship floor had let infection fester. The edges of the wound were red and swollen and yellow crusts covered the stump in patches.

Anakin was probably already in shock.

There was no time to waste.

“Anakin… I’m here. I’m here. You’re safe,” he murmured, knowing that Anakin couldn’t hear him, but he needed to tell him all the same. He needed to tell himself that Anakin was safe, safe from whatever dreadful darkness he had faced on Coruscant, a shadow so strong that its presence still lingered around him.

Gently, guiding it with the Force so that it did not touch that awful wound – _Geonosis all over again and ten thousands times worse, but he’s alive, he’s alive, at least he is alive_ – Obi-Wan disentangled the cable that fastened Anakin to the seat and sent it flying towards the corner where Artoo waited, silent at last. He slung Anakin’s remaining arm across his own shoulders and gathered him in his arms, pulling himself to his feet.

“Where is Padmé?”

Obi-Wan almost dropped him for the shock of hearing him speak.

“Oh, Anakin,” he whispered, settling him closer against his chest as he leant against the wall of the cockpit, too shaken to be able to move notwithstanding the urgency. “I thought I had lost you.”

Anakin didn’t even hear him. “Is she safe? Is she all right?”

Battling away tears, Obi-Wan smiled at Anakin’s stubborn protectiveness. He could feel the way he was pulling the Force tight around himself, both to shield and to contain the damage. He tried to help, sending a soothing tendril of healing through the Force, but Anakin was not letting him in.

“She is giving birth to your children right now,” he murmured. “She’s right here, I’m taking you to the medbay right now, you need –”

“No!”

Anakin’s plea would have been a roar, had he not been so weak. For a frightening moment, Obi-Wan thought he could see a streak of red in his eyes, but it was probably just the reflection of the emergency lights flashing in the ruined ship.

“You… You… stay away… from her. She will die. I can’t… Don’t.”

“Anakin, you are gravely wounded, you need immediate medical attention or you will die,” Obi-Wan said sharply. He couldn’t believe he needed to talk sense into him even in such a situation. “Padmé is perfectly healthy and I’m sure the medbay is fit to attend to more than one patient at a time.”

“Doesn’t… doesn’t matter.” Anakin’s eyes rolled back in his head, his body shaken by tremors. “Don’t. I can’t… near her. Too… too much darkness. Protect… the child.” He let out a ragged breath, letting his head drop against Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “Better… better me… than her.”

“I will not let you die!”

Anakin’s hand tightened around his shoulder, too near to Obi-Wan’s neck for his comfort. Anger and fear rolled in waves from Anakin; he was barely keeping his emotion in check, and Obi-Wan was not sure he would be able to control them much longer. He didn’t want to know what Anakin could be capable of should his control slip.

“You… must…. I can’t… lose her,” Anakin growled.

Slowly, Obi-Wan nodded. They didn’t have much time, and he could sense Anakin’s grasp on the Force fading. Once he lost it, shock would overtake him, and then it would probably be too late to save him.

“Let me heal you.”

Anakin stiffened in his arms.

“You’re no healer,” he whispered.

“I can try.”

“You might die.”

“I know.”

Two heartbeats of silence, then Anakin nodded. Obi-Wan flinched slightly at his friend’s fast acceptance of this possibility, but he couldn’t find it in himself to blame him: it was clear Anakin was not in his mind.

“Let me take you to my quarters. This ship is too dirty. Can you hold out until then?”

Anakin nodded again, then fell silent, all his strengths directed at keeping his own life afloat on the currents of darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fear the chapters are too short, but I can't really write two long-fics with 10k per chapter at a time. I'd like to know if you think I should make them a bit longer, though.


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